wishes to see you!"

Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that
Nur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian
refugee," she had said.

"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued.

"Certainly," replied Desmond. "You will come alone. Otherwise,
Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come
alone, you will waste your time!"

"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked.

"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the
voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet you
and take you to the lady."

"But..." Desmond began.

"Will you come at once? And alone?" the nasal voice broke in
sharply.

Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; not
to go was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din.
To telephone to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring a
hornets' nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer if
he went alone. He lost no time in making up his mind. The Chief
must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. He
would go.

"I will come at once," said Desmond.

"Good," said the voice and the communication ceased.

Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial
job is to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless this
emissary of providence that leant down from his celestial seat
and whispered in Desmond's ear that it would be delightful to
walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was in
the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but
the cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking.

In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go
into Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told
her that he himself was going out and would not be back for tea.
Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strode
down the drive and out into the road.

It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine
was waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing
low along the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the
Mill House, as he was bid and saw the road running like a khaki
ribbon before him into the misty distance.

Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected,
broken and flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile
it narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches lined
with pollard willows and brimful of brown peaty wate